A Porcelain Deformity
by Muskoka Girl
Summary: ...she frowned at the young mother’s naiveté. Erik had been keeping tabs on the family for some time smashing mirrors would do nothing to stop him. Chapter 3 up! EC R
1. The porcelain deformity

_**A Porcelain Deformity**_

**A/N**: Okay… I haven't done any multi chapter fanfics in at least two years, (last time I did one was on my old account, my pen name was "Tani"), so I'm not sure how well this one is going to go. Also, I've only read Leroux once, and I'm bad at remembering small details, so this will be based mainly on ALW's musical. In this fanfic Raoul has passed away, (it was the only way I could try and put Christine and the Phantom together without making Raoul OOC), however, I just want people to know that I am not a Raoul basher, so if your looking for a fic that bashes him, it wont be this one.

**Summary:** Christine and Adele are heartbroken after the loss of Raoul. Can Erik provide comfort? Or will he only make matters much worse.

**Disclaimer:** The only things I own are characters you do not recognize. The name of Christine's daughter was borrowed from the name of the little girl in my favourite book, "Jane Eyre".

* * *

The coach rolled away noisily, as mother and child ran toward the building, rain pelting down all around them. The mother grabbed the knocker in her hands, which were numb from the damp October air; hoping as she did, that a servant would come quickly and let them in. Soon enough the old oak door swung open and the pair dashed into the warm little flat as quickly as they could.

The mother helped the little girl, who was the tender age of five, remove her water logged petticoat. She then gently shook out the child's damp brown curls. She had nearly removed her own coat, when a great shaggy brown dog leapt onto her with an excited "woof!" She sighed and rolled her eyes, "Down Plato!" sprang exasperated from her lips. The name did not fit the mutt, who was ridiculously and utterly stupid. She had to love the beast though, he had been a favourite with her husband, and Plato, as much as she disliked admitting it, had become dear to her also.

"Will the flowers we left for papa last?" The little girl asked sadly, obviously worrying about the torrential rain.

"I do not know Adele." The weary young mother whispered, continuing to remove her coat, now that the dog had settled.

"Oh good your home!" The maid's cheery voice rang out as she approached them, taking their coats, and hanging them up. Her name was Molly Parker; she was a plump little old English woman. Molly was industrious, sweet, she did her job exceedingly well, and had helped the little family out a great deal when the master of the house died, and his rich upper class parents abandoned his former "Chorus girl" wife, and innocent child. However, for all the women's goodness, it was not quite clear if she would have job much longer. Money was scarce for the little family, and having no other relations, or inheritance to fall back on, and with the mother working a low paying job in a local store, (for she could not bring herself to sing), it was getting exceedingly harder to afford the sweet little maid.

"I put the kettle on not too long ago, Christine, it should be ready shortly. Oh, and I baked some biscuits, which if I may say so, are scrumptious." Molly's smile was usually infectious, but today it did not rub off on Christine.

"Please, do not bother to pour me any Molly, I'm tired from the trip to the cemetery, and I'm going to have a lie down. But by all means, give some to Adele. She was complaining of being famished in the coach." Christine then proceeded to climb the stairs without saying a further word.

Molly turned to Adele. "Well, just because your dear mother is not having any, doesn't mean you and I can't have a cup of nice tea. Come along dear." She took Adele's hand and led her into the kitchen, frowning when the child said nothing, but only followed mutely. Adele had always been a happy child, full of life and energy, yet she, like her mother, had seemed so empty since her father's death.

"This poor family," Molly thought frowning to herself. "it is almost like they have forgotten how to live in their grief, they need someone to teach them how, I only wish I could be of better help to them."

After having tea, Adele crept into her mother's bedroom, easing the door open slowly. It was as dark and silent, as a tomb. Yet even with such lighting conditions, she could barely make out her mother's form on the bed, which was far too big for one person, her dark ebony curls sprawled out on the pillow.

"Mamma?" Childhood's whisper echoed in the stillness of the room. Her mother made no reply, and little Adele moved towards Christine's still form.

"Mamma?" She again whispered. Once at the foot of the bed, she lightly tapped the adult's arm, knowing intuitively her mother was not asleep; it was much too early for sleeping. She could hear the pitter pat of the pelting rain hitting the window.

"Oui Adele?" Christine's broken voice finally replied, with an empty heaving sigh. She had her back to the girl.

"Mamma, something has happened to "Angel". Look!" Christine sighed and rolled over, facing her child, who had a sad and worried look on her face.

Adele held up her favourite plaything, a porcelain doll, with ebony curls almost exactly like Christine's, and soft downy angel's wings. It had been the final gift the child had ever received from her father, when he was in the mid stages of the illness that took his life.

Christine secretly loathed the thing that her child coveted (and happily dubbed), "Angel". She had been quite angry with Raoul when he had given their baby, an Angel, of all things! Yet, he had soothingly taken her hand, caressed it with both his own, and explained to her that he knew he had little time left, and he wanted to give his girl the "Angel" that her mother had been promised, but had never really received. "Also, I want the doll to be a little way of showing her that I am always with her, in her heart at least."

When Christine looked at the little doll now, a chill ran up and down her spine. Several cracks had appeared, going down the right hand side of the dolls face, ending just by its lips; a porcelain deformity. Outside, thunder crashed.

**A/N:** Okay…. So the first chapter is short, but there is more to come! Luckily its summer too, so I should be able to update more frequently. Also, I just want it to be known that this is NOT going to be another one of those "Christine's daughter gets taught how to sing by Erik!" Fan fictions, however it will be E/P (or if you prefer E/C).


	2. Adele's Angel

A Porcelain Deformity Chapter 2

A/N: Here it is….chapter two! Thank you very much to all who reviewed; Catalina Fioght and Company, and Splendorous Night Unfurled, thanks a bunch!

Disclaimer: I disclaim. Yet, I wouldn't mind to ave my own little angel of music, that sings eiter like Gerry, or MC, to sing to me. Hehehe.

* * *

Christine sat up quickly in bed, and snatched the doll from Adele's hands so abruptly, that the girl jumped back in fright. Holding the thing, she felt uneasy, no, more than uneasy, she felt dread. A thick, heavy, black dread that she had not felt since that night below the Opera House; the last time she was in Erik's Lair. She ran a finger over the doll's face, over the crack, the deformity, frowning thoughtfully.

"When did this happen, Adele?" She whispered softly, yet there was something strange in her voice.

The girl nervously bit her lip. "I don't know when Mamma."

Christine sighed. "Tomorrow I'll buy you a new one, and we'll throw this one out." Adele did not like this solution.

"No!" She reached out for the doll, but her mother retained her hold on it. "No Mamma I want this one!"

"Why? It's broken. We can get you a new one, a better one."

"Mamma I don't want a new one! Daddy gave me this, it's "Angel", and to me it's perfect. It's my angel, it protects me."

Christine fixed her daughter an impatient frown. "How many times do I have to tell you Adele, that thing, is not an angel!" Christine nearly said that there was no such thing as angels, but she didn't want to crush her child's innocent naiveté.

"It is Mamma! Daddy said, if I keep this doll near me, he'll always be with me. His spirit is with me, when the doll is with me!"

"**_Damn it Adele! That is not your father!"_** She had not realized she was screaming until she saw the petrified look on her child's face, and the clear, salty droplets of tears that began to fall, accompanied by silent sobs. Christine sighed, her head spinning, and hopped off the bed, crouching beside the weeping child.

"I'm so sorry Adele; I never meant to yell like that." She whispered, wiping the tears from Adele's chubby cherub like face. "It's true though. That doll is not your father's angel. Your father gave you that, as a way for you to **remember** him, so he could always be **here**," she placed a hand on Adele's chest and smiled maternally, "in your heart." The child nodded, and gave a small sniffle, the aftermath of her tears.

"Come sweetie." Christine whispered, sounding utterly exhausted. "Lie down with mommy. It's been a long day." She climbed onto the bed, beneath the burgundy sheets, that were always so soft and inviting, and patted the big empty space beside her.

"It's early Mamma." Adele stated with furrowed brows.

"Mamma is tired." Christine replied with a yawn, as if trying to prove to her daughter, just how tired she was.

"You always are Mamma." The girl said sadly, and clutching the little doll to her heart, she crept out of the room, as her mother began to doze.

Even though Adele was young, she new; something was wrong with her mother.

* * *

Several days later, while Christine was napping yet again, Molly came up to Adele, who was studying a picture book on the floor. In her calloused hands, the maid held "Angel", and on her lips, she wore a self satisfied smile.

The child had shown her maid, and only playmate, her "dolly's" deformity, and asked Molly if she could fix it. Molly had wracked her brain for quite sometime, and then, had come up with a solution; she now presented that solution to the child.

"Look Adele!" She exclaimed proudly. "Angel" now wore on its little porcelain face, a small cloth half mask, with a tiny blue music note embroidered on its cheek.

Adele beamed excitedly, jumped up from the floor and clapped her hands with delight. "Oh thank you Molly, thank you! You fixed him!" The girl hugged the maid happily, grabbed the doll up in her arms, and ran off to her room to play with it.

* * *

Adele sat on the floor in her room in front of a mirror that was about her mother's height, holding "Angel" in her lap. She ran a chubby little finger along the mask and along every stitch of the little music note. "Angel of music" she whispered softly. Then she frowned to herself.

"Angel, where did my Papa go? Mamma said that he died. I don't know what that means. Molly says that dying is very much like sleeping, sleeping for a very long time. Some people say that when you die, you go to live with the angels. Have you seen Papa Angel?"

Little did Adele know, but someone was watching her intently from inside the mirror. A man with haunted eyes, that seemed to hold all the sadness of the world. Those eyes were fixed on the child now, in a pitying glance.

"I miss Papa Angel." She whispered softly, voice quivering, as little droplets trickled down her cheeks, and splattered on the porcelain angel's face. "I miss how Mamma used to be. She's so different now. I wish we could be happy again." She broke into a series of short quick sobs.

"Hush, do not cry Mon petite ange." A soft sing-song tenor voice whispered. Adele looked up in surprise. The voice seemed to be resonating from her doll. Yet that was impossible, wasn't it?

"Angel?"

"Yes, it is me Adele." The voice was soothing, sweet, and almost hypnotic. "Do not cry little one, it hurts me to see you cry."

The girl nodded. "Yes angel."

"Can you sing Mon Petite?" The voice inquired. "Your mother has such a beautiful voice, I should know, I taught her how to sing. Alas, she won't sing anymore. Can you?"

"I, I don't know. I've never tried."

"Never tried?" The voice laughed gently. "Then you have not yet truly lived. Some day I shall teach you, but not today. Tell me little one, how is your mother?" Upon mentioning the girl's mother, the voice, quivered a little.

"Something is wrong with her." The girlfrowned."All she wants to do is sleep. Papa slept a lot before he died. Is Mamma going to die too? I'm scared Angel. I don't want Mamma to die." She hugged her doll tightly, and ran a hand through its soft ebony curls.

"Your mother is not going to die my love." The voice whispered soothingly, paternally. "She is just in a lot of pain. She is trying to be strong for you, because she loves you, but holding back her pain, and her tears, is not making it all go away. She needs to learn that it is alright to cry. Crying helps take the pain away." The way the voice spoke, made it sound like the speaker had felt a lot of pain in his life.

"Go to your mother. Bring me with you. Tell her, that her "Angel of Music", Erik,misses her, and is here to help."

The girl nodded quickly, and scooping the doll up in her arms, she ran out the room, and down the hall, towards her mother's room. Erik watched her go from inside the mirror, and sighed softly to himself. He wanted so badly to help them, but would they let him? Did he, who had never received much love, know how? With a frown her turned away, and pulling his cloak around him he disappeared in a puff of smoke.

* * *

"Mamma!" Adele exclaimed, excitedly hopping onto her mother's bed, waking the woman up.

"What is it Adele?" Christine whispered weakly. Adele showed her mother the little mask Molly had made, which caused Christine to frown lightly. Then the girl explained the voice, and Christine's face grew pallid.

"My dolly is the Angel of Music Mommy!" Adele smiled.

"There is no angel of music!" Christine hissed vehemently. She had to protect her child, and if sternness was the only way to do so, then so be it.

"Why do you hate angels Mamma?" Adele whispered, with the innocent inquisitiveness only children posses, the kind that makes it almost impossible not to answer them.

Caught of guard by her daughter's question Christine tried to explain. "I don't hate them Adele." She whispered slowly.

How to explain? How could Adele possibly understand the horror Erik had caused Christine, and yet, the joy. How could she understand how it felt to be mesmerized by his soft, sweet, dulcet, tenor voice, the voice that made it seem like everything would be alright. The voice that haunted her dreams, still to this day. The voice that a deep secret part of her, loved.

"There just, isn't an angel of music."

"But there is Mamma! He told me so himself! He misses you. And, he told me to say to you that, "your angel of music", Erik,is going to help us."

Christine shivered. Outside, thunder crashed. The music of the night had begun again.

* * *

A/N: Well there's chapter two! Sorry, I realize now it was a lot like chapter one. The next chapter should be different, don't worry. I also referred to Erik as having a tenor voice, because from what I hear, that's what is most common with the stage show, plus I had MC in mind while writing this. 


	3. Molly's letter

Chapter 3

A/N: Wow…. Sorry for how long it has taken me to update, first I was on vacation, then I had writers block, then I had to redecorate my bedroom! So my apologies! Thanks again to everyone who has reviewed; the girl with the quill pen, a heart full of sorrow, splendorous night unfurled, Catalina fioght and company, and last but never least, a very dear friend of mine, "Mandana-chan"! Thanks all of you, the reviews and support have really helped me to get through my writers block!

Disclaimer: You know I don't own it, I know I don't, and lets leave it at that, shall we?

"Argh!" Christine screeched as she smashed the mirror in Adele's room. She had told Raoul when he purchased it that she did not think it would be a good thing to put in their child's bedroom, after all it was the mirror in her dressing room back at the Opera house which Erik had used the first time he took her away to his world of night.

Raoul had simply smiled, patted her hand and told her she was "Worrying far too much," and that, "Erik had left them alone," and "besides, there had been a series of tunnels in the Opera Populaire, tunnels that Erik had built, tunnels which could not and would not be found in their happy home."

"We're safe now Christine. There is absolutely no reason to fret."

"Perhaps Raoul was right." Christine thought. For once the mirror was broken there was nothing but wall behind it. "Or perhaps Erik is using some of his other tricks."

"Argh!" Her mother's screech rang through the house, piercing Adele' ears; it was soon followed by the sharp peal of shattering glass.

Molly watched the girl, who seemed to shrink as far as she could go into the arms of her father's leather armchair. The girl had a look of startled confusion on her face, mixed with an intense sadness that broke Molly's heart to see. The poor thing, first she lost her father, now she was losing her mother too.

Molly frowned at the actions of the frantic woman, but more so, she frowned at the young mother's naiveté. Erik had been keeping tabs on the family for some time; smashing mirrors would do nothing to stop him.

"Adele, why don't you go outside and pick some nice flowers from the garden, alright?" Molly suggested with a warm smile at the frightened girl. Adele nodded, and jumping out of her chair, quickly vacated the room. When the child was gone Molly sighed, and shook her head, before heading up the stairs to talk to the girl's frantic mother.

Placing a steaming teacup on the kitchen table in front of a now subdued Christine, Molly noticed just how haggard the younger woman looked. She looked pale, thin and drawn. Her eyes were red and puffy, either from lack of sleep, or crying, and there were dark circles underneath them. Her usually beautiful locks of black hair were unkempt and disheveled, and she seemed thinner than usual, so much so in fact, that her black gown seemed to swallow her up.

Molly took a seat opposite Christine, and the two women sat in awkward silence for a few moments, sipping their tea; Chamomile, it had been Raoul's favourite, and out of habit Christine still bought it. After a few moments, Christine ran a hand through her messy hair and sighed.

"What's wrong Ma'am?" Molly asked, seizing her opportunity to lead Christine off the scent. Molly did not want Christine to know Erik had been keeping tabs on her, not at least until she knew Erik was truly ready to be revealed. "Why did you smash that mirror?"

For a few moments Christine said nothing. She traced the crocheted flowers on her off-white table cloth. "Do you remember Molly, before Adele was born; you asked me if I knew an Erik? You said," her voice trailed off, "that a letter had been written for you, from a mysterious man named Erik. You said the man who wrote this letter…told you that he was an old friend of my husband and me? He told you…to do certain things. Do you remember how frightened you were? How you had asked Raoul and me, if we knew of an Erik, and how we said no? Well Molly," her voice trailed off again and she sighed, "we lied."

"Lied Ma'am? Now why would you and the Master, god rest him ever have done such a thing?" Molly played dumb and feigned shock. She had once wanted to be a great actress, nearly succeeded too, had fate not gotten in the way.

Christine then launched into a hasty explanation of Erik, and her connection to him. She spoke of her father's old tale of an Angel of Music, how she and Raoul had met by the sea, how he had saved her scarf, how she had been orphaned after her father died, how Madame Giry had taken her to the Opera House. She also spoke of how she had thought her "Angel of Music" had finally come for her. Last, she explained all the horrible things that Erik had done. Molly knew all of these things in some way or another, yet she continued to feign ignorance.

"Raoul and I were finally free, and everything was wonderful!" Christine laughed. "We were happily married, and we had a beautiful little girl." She looked at her hands; apparently the scarlet shade of her nail polish was more engaging than her maid's face. "Then Raoul got sick." A tiny droplet seeped out of her brown eyes, cascading down her pale cheek, and splattering on the off white table cloth. "I watched the man I love, wither away into nothing." She said nothing more, and two more tears slipped down her cheeks.

Molly reached out and patted the younger woman's hand, in what she hoped was a reassuring gesture. Christine took a deep shuddering breath before pressing on "When he died, Molly, a part of me went with him, a big part. I haven't been the same since. To make matters worse, Erik is back."

"Really Ma'am? How can you be sure?" Christine chuckled sarcastically to herself. She was sure, but she didn't know how to explain that sureness to a simple woman like Molly Parker.

"You know that porcelain doll that Raoul bought Adele? God how I have always hated that thing, it gives me an eerie feeling." She paused a moment. "Its face," her voice trailed, "it got a crack on the exact same side where Erik had his… deformity.

"At first I pegged it as coincidence, and continued to do so, until Adele said the strangest things. She said that the doll "spoke" to her it "told her to tell me" that my "Angel of music had returned" and that "he is going to look after me!" It's him Molly, who else? He's come back to get his revenge, I'll never escape him, never!" By now Christine was sobbing uncontrollably.

Molly rose from her chair approaching the hysteric young woman. Standing her up and drawing the frantic girl into her arms, Molly tried to console Christine.

"Sssh Christine ssh." Molly whispered rocking the girl back and fourth and patting her back. Molly once had a daughter, Margaret; she would have been about Christine's age now, if not for the fire that had taken everything.

"Christine…" A softer tenor voice echoed out of nowhere, at the sound of which the young woman shivered. The elder one heard it too; however she was not startled by the voice, and did not give of any signs of hearing it.

"Really now Ma'am, you know what I think?" Molly began softly. "I think your making this a bigger problem then it has to be. Adele is child, children have big imaginations. I also think that your daughter's tale, brought back the stress of the ordeal you went through all those years ago, and to top it all off, your overtired. I think you should rest."

"I'm fine Molly, perfectly fine." Christine snapped pulling away from the elder woman, and straightening her gown with her hands, in effort to regain her composure. "And no I do not need a rest, there is far too much to be done. In fact, I actually have to go into town today to run a few errands." Taking a deep breath Christine departed murmuring something to herself. Molly also noted with a frown that the young woman's hands were shaking. After clearing the kitchen and attending to some of her other duties, Molly climbed the stairs that lead to the servant's quarters.

Due to the state the family's finances had come to since the death of the Vicomte, there were only two other servants currently employed in the house hold; Molly, and Monsieur Noir, the gardener. He was about Molly's age and was an extreme dog of a man. He was always making obscene and suggestive gestures that a man that old should be ashamed of.

He wasn't very presentable either. His white hair was always long, scraggily and unkempt, his clothes were always wrinkled, dirty, and smelly. He had a stump for a left leg and used a gnarled old cane to walk; the steady thumping sound of his gait could be heard from miles off.

His eyes were another matter all together; there was something frightening about them, especially the blind one with its slight discoloration. The man disgusted Molly, but unfortunately, his room was right across from hers. This often subjected her to verbal sexual harassment.

Turning the key to her bedroom door, she heard his open, and the steady "thud" that always alerted her of his presence. "Hello Mrs. Parker," He wheezed in the kind of raspy voice common to those who have smoked far too much in their lives. Molly shuddered at the sound of it, as she always did. She could feel his good eye looking over her plump figure, and resting smugly on her bottom. Oh how she wished her husband were still alive, he would have chased away this ruffian for her! Then again if her husband were still alive she would probably not be living or working here. Molly tried to ignore him, and smiled thankfully as her door unlocked.

"Ignoring me, are we sweetheart?" His English was very good for someone native to France, even if his heavy accent made it hard at times to understand.

Molly slowly turned around to look at him, and was disgusted and appalled by what she saw. He was leaning on his walking stick, so that his hips jutted out in a suggestive way. Upon noticing her indignant reaction to this, Mr. Noir wiggled his eyebrows and grinned lecherously.

"Why don't you stop being such a frigid little bitch, and spend some quality time with me in there?" He gestured lewdly towards his personal quarters. "It'll be worth your while! So what do ya say darlin?"

"You want to know what I say?" Molly asked. She walked up to him, and leaned forward with mock suggestiveness, her lipstick coated lips nearly touching his dry chapped ones. "This is what I say." She whispered huskily, before slapping him swiftly across the face. While he recoiled she retreated into her room and made to shut the door, before it completely shut however she opened it again.

"Oh and how could I forget," she laughed "I also say this!" She flipped up the middle finger of her right hand at him, before slamming the door shut and locking it. Mr. Noir muttered some not quite so perfect words under his breath, and walked down the hall, his cane thumping merrily with every step.

Upon entering her room Molly got an uneasy feeling. It was a feeling she got quite frequently over the past few years, ever since she took up employment at the De Chagny residence in fact. The feeling always came in the form of an icy chill that slipped down her spine like a snake, and it could only mean one thing. Looking up at the little oak dresser in the corner of her room confirmed her suspicions.

There on the top of the piece of furniture lay a cream envelope with a thick red seal. She didn't even have to hold it in her hand to know that the seal was in the shape of a skull, beside the envelop lay a single red rose with a black ribbon tied round its stem. Erik had delivered another letter.

A/N: The plot thickens eh? I'll try very hard to have the next chapter up within the week; however I can't make any promises because I'm starting my final year of high school on Tuesday. Sorry again for how long it's taken.


End file.
